


The Winter Feast

by Morvidra



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Midwinter Festival, Scheming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-29
Updated: 2015-11-29
Packaged: 2018-05-03 23:38:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5311451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morvidra/pseuds/Morvidra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dwarves do not celebrate Yule.</p>
<p>King Thorin Oakenshield is very clear about this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Winter Feast

**Author's Note:**

  * For [andquitefrankly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/andquitefrankly/gifts).



> You asked for ridiculous fluff, oblivious idiots, Dáin and Thorin being rapscallions, and/or Fíli and Kíli being precious adorable babies.
> 
> I hope this pleases. (Dís insisted on coming along for the ride as well.)
> 
> Happy Holiday!

Dwarves have no celebrations in wintertime.

Certainly they are aware that the kingdoms of Men have grand holidays at this time. Some may even be aware that the small Hobbits hold their great Yule-tide festival in mid-winter. This feast of Yule has also been adopted by other races, including the skin-changers who live East of the Misty Mountains. But the major annual celebration for dwarf clans is the New Year, which in their reckoning is the first day of the last new moon to begin in autumn. For the Dwarves of the West, this sometimes holds even greater significance, for if the sun and moon are seen in the sky together on this day, they call it Durin’s Day, and it is an occasion for great feasting and celebration. But after this, the Dwarves see no festivities until after the winter.

And so the young princes Fíli and Kíli, having barely learned of the existence of the feast of Yule, were met with disappointment on being told that Dwarves Do Not Celebrate Yule-tide. Their mother Dís had rolled her eyes slightly at this; Thorin sometimes spoke in capitals even when he wasn’t on duty as King.

“Do you think, if you tried really hard, you could sound more pretentious?” Dís asked Thorin. “You are not giving a speech, dear brother; you are talking to your nephews – so kindly remove the crown from your b—”

“Dís!” Thorin sounded quite horrified. “The children are present, you know!”

“Black hair.” Dís smiled sweetly at Thorin. “Why, what did you think I was going to say?” 

“In any case,” Thorin said through gritted teeth, “although I may have expressed myself poorly, the fact remains the same. Dwarves have no tradition of celebrating Yule-tide, and we are not going to begin now.”

Dís folded her arms and Looked at her brother.

Thorin coughed – and hurriedly pulled a letter from the pocket of his coat. 

“I am reminded, Dís, that I received word from Dáin today. He asks if it would be convenient for him to pay us a visit this year.”

“Oh – it’s about time!” Dís said, cheering up visibly. “I haven’t seen Dáin since… goodness! It must be about fifteen years!” She chuckled. “Not since that visit where you and he went the rounds of the taverns and—” 

Thorin’s own Look had reached the level of Very Unimpressed, and was rapidly approaching Decidedly Annoyed. Dís grinned slightly but stopped talking, taking the letter from her brother’s hand.

“Now let me see.” She scanned Dáin’s letter, muttering out loud as she did so. “Da da da… family commitments… hmm… travel time… bringing a small retinue (I must let the housekeeping staff know)… hoping to arrive in…”

She paused in her reading as a tiny idea glinted in her mind, like the first speck of gold in a mine. It was only a slight pause, but over in the corner of the room, Fíli’s ears pricked up.

“Arrive in late November and stay through the winter,” Dís finished brightly. “Well! That should all be very pleasant – I’ll write to him and tell him that will all be just fine, then. It will be lovely to see Dáin again, and to hear all about his family. I do hope he has an easy journey; the roads shouldn’t be too crowded at that time of year…”

She rattled on cheerfully. Behind the sofa, Fíli started to grin. His mama was Up To Something. And that always meant fun.

~*~*~

Dáin’s arrival had gone extremely well, Dís thought with satisfaction. Thorin was already sounding much less pompous – he and Dáin had fallen into their old semi-brotherly relationship, and Dáin was missing no opportunity to needle Thorin about his Majestic Ways. Thorin, in turn, was retaliating with an extended commentary on the theme of Pigs – And Those Who Resemble Them. By now, they had reached the stage of laughing too hard to continue the argument. 

Fíli and Kíli had been unfortunately inspired by some of Dáin’s more creative remarks, and Dís was fairly sure she would have her work cut out stopping Kíli from telling everyone to “thod off”. Perhaps by the time his front tooth grew back in, he would have forgotten about it, she thought without much hope. 

But most importantly, the foundations had been laid for her great plan – her plan to make her sons happy.

Dáin had played his part magnificently at dinner.

“Aye, my lady and the boy were sorry not to be able to come, but there’s a lot to be doing in the Iron Hills this time of year,” Dáin said, probably truthfully. “All the organisation for the Midwinter festival, you know,” he continued, with a barely noticeable glance at Dís.

“Midwinter festival,” Thorin repeated. “What manner of occasion is that, cousin?”

“Why it’s our traditional winter celebration!” Dáin’s eyes widened in well-simulated astonishment. “Have you never? – but of course, you’ve never visited our Hills at this time of the year. It’s a great feast that we hold on the eve of the Solstice,” he continued unblushingly. “There are decorations, and traditional food, and music – oh, ‘tis a grand occasion, and enjoyed by all!” He shook his head mournfully. “’Twill seem strange to be away from it all – not that I am sorry to be here with you, cousins,” he added, hurriedly.

“It sounds most enjoyable,” Dís said brightly. “It occurs to me - perhaps while you are here, Dáin, we could put together a Midwinter feast of our own!”

“Cousin Dís, you are most kind,” Dáin said with the utmost solemnity. “But I would not want you to put yourself to any trouble on my account.”

“Nonsense, Dáin, it would be no trouble at all,” Dís assured him. “Thorin, do help me persuade our cousin.”

Thorin was blinking rapidly, and was clearly having trouble keeping up. “Er… no,” he said, confused. “That is… but a winter celebration? Never have we held such an event here—”

“Which is all the more reason to honour our guest and cousin by bringing a touch of his home festivities to his visit here,” Dís said firmly. “I won’t hear any more argument. Dáin, you must tell me everything about your Midwinter celebrations, and we will see what we can do here.”

“Yes…” Thorin said thoughtfully. “Yes, we naturally wish you to feel at home, cousin. A feast in winter would be quite possible. Dís,” he addressed his sister, his gaze lingering on her – and for one appalled moment Dís thought he’d caught on to her plan. She breathed a covert sigh of relief as he continued – “I leave it in your capable hands to organise.”

“You do me too much honour, cousins,” Dáin declared with a bow and a secret wink at Dís. “But I will be happy to assist.”

~*~*~

And so the preparations had begun.

The most important thing, Dís thought, was going to be the decorations. Presentation, after all, was vital to the success of the plan – and everything needed to be dwarvish in style, as well. (Thorin could be relied on to throw anything elvish down a very deep mine, and would then probably cause a cave-in of top of it, just to be sure.) 

The three of them sat late into the night, plotting and drafting, arguing details and proportions, sketching ideas and scribbling notes. They had emerged the next morning, bleary but triumphant, each clutching a sheaf of papers. And the craftspeople of the Blue Mountains found themselves suddenly inundated with royal commissions.

Thorin was acquainted with most of the local smiths and ironwrights. Dáin’s craft was glassblowing –although he was the first to admit that he wasn’t very _good_ at it, but he knew the theory inside out. Dís had worked with many of the jewellers, and, through her late husband, she also knew some of the woodcarvers. 

There followed a time of intense activity. Messengers went back and forth between the royal halls and the various studios, workshops and forges, until Thorin remarked that at this rate, they would need to re-pave the roads next spring. Dáin cheerfully volunteered his retinue to help with the heavy lifting, at which point Meris his chief guard and Runin his major-domo had explained to him why this would not be happening. (Only they had used much shorter words. Dís really hoped her sons hadn’t been listening.)

Fíli and Kíli had been put to making paper chains. This was going extremely well – or at least, it was keeping them from running around getting in everyone’s way. The competition to see who could make the longest paper chain had been fairly inevitable, in Dís’ opinion, as had the arguments, the spillages, and the recriminations. However, the boys had managed to make a truly staggering quantity of useable chain, even if they had both ended up liberally streaked with glue and little pieces of paper.

Dís had spoken privately to one of the cooks to arrange for a special batch of baked goods, to be ready a day or so before the big event. She had originally planned to do the baking herself, but the trial batch had suffered so badly from the ravages of two small boys – not to mention Thorin and Dáin, who were worse – that it was clear nothing would survive for the festivities unless it was prepared and kept elsewhere.

Then she had to ban Thorin and Dáin from the kitchens. Fortunately, she had just the project to keep them occupied.

“Go and fetch a tree, she says,” Dáin grumbled as he and Thorin trudged out of the halls. The ground was soft and muddy underfoot, and just slippery enough to make walking treacherous. 

“Trust me, cousin, this is by far the easiest way,” Thorin said bitterly. “Resisting my sister’s orders usually has unspeakably dire consequences.”

“Aye, is that so? Well, I hope you have some idea of how to go about this, because I for one do not,” Dáin declared.

There was a muffled snicker from the small group of guards following the royal cousins.

“I have no more idea than you,” Thorin replied. “But it is certainly not an impossible task – and with such strength and wit as we two possess, together with our trusty companions, we shall surely prevail in this quest.”

Dáin stopped dead in his tracks. “Thorin.”

“Yes, cousin Dáin?”

“It’s bad enough that we have to go and get a tree,” Dáin enunciated carefully. “But if you are going to pontificate like that for this whole trip, then _I_ am going to hit you over the head with a log.”

~*~*~

The great fir tree had been placed in the hall. In some fashion – Dís wasn’t sure how, and was not inclined to ask – it had been fixed to stay upright and sturdy, even though it was no longer rooted in the earth. 

Fíli and Kíli had volunteered to test whether it would fall over. Dís had nearly split her dress laughing at Thorin and Dáin’s identically horrified expressions. Then she had firmly dispatched the boys with Thorin, while she and Dain, together with carefully selected assistants, had begun the last and greatest task: decorating. 

And now, at last, the day had arrived. Every possible member of the royal household and family was assembled outside the great hall. The air was filled with anticipation – perhaps all the more so because the assembled throng did not know exactly _what_ they were anticipating.

Dís and Dáin exchanged looks of glee, and together they flung open the massive doors.

A low gasp arose from the assembled dwarves. The great hall had been transformed. A hundred – two hundred – five hundred candles cast their light around the room. Swathes of red cloth were draped on the walls, and garlands of bright paper rings glowed against them. Over the fireplace hung an evergreen wreath tied with a golden ribbon. But towering above all else – in both stature and splendour – was the tree.

Never had the dwarves of the Blue Mountains seen such a tree! From trunk to tip it had been decorated, to the point where only a few green sprigs peeked out to hint at the fir within. Candles lit the tree from within blown-glass holders – each coloured in jewel tones and specially designed (Dáin had assured Dís) so that the tree could not possibly be set on fire.

Bifur, a young woodcarver, had created intricately-carved balls, glowing with a multitude of natural wood colours. The woodcarvers had also brought painted ornaments – drums, apples, and fifteen little birds – as well as a long string with dozens of little snowflakes strung along its length, that was wound around the tree. It crossed at several points with a string of silver bells that chimed softly with the movement of the air.

Little gilded harps and fiddles hung next to glass icicles, and stars of iron filigree nodded at tiny metal anvils. Small gems flashed in the candlelight, set into miniature miners’ picks and helmets. Gingerbread dwarves – those that had survived Fíli and Kíli, at any rate – swung merrily next to gilded stars. And atop the towering fir, a great, golden starburst glowed as if with its own light.

Dís saw her sons’ faces, and knew with a deep certainty that it had been worth the trouble – worth every bit of conniving, cajoling and conspiring – to bring that look of wonder and delight to their eyes. Dáin caught her eye and winked slightly.

Then the food began to emerge from the kitchens, and a great shout of joy went up from every dwarf present, as they scrambled to take their seats.

~*~*~

“Well now,” Thorin said, leaning back in his throne and surveying the hall. “This has been a most enjoyable evening. My compliments to you, Dís, on your organisational abilities – this is indeed a triumph! And I thank you, Dáin, for introducing us to this fine tradition from your Iron Hills. I sincerely hope that we have managed to match – and, dare I hope, to surpass – your own festivities.” Idly he straightened his paper hat, which had slipped over one ear.

“Aye, you’ve certainly outdone yourselves,” Dáin agreed. “I’ve never known a finer Midwinter feast, that’s for sure!” 

Dís stifled a giggle by taking another gulp of mulled ale.

“What is that?” Thorin asked suddenly. He was pointing upwards. 

Dís and Dáin followed the line of his finger up to…

Ah.

“I believe that it’s called mistletoe,” Dáin said innocently. “It grows on bigger trees, you know, and feeds off them – small thing, but it can kill a grown oak with sheer stubbornness.”

Thorin blinked. “How very appropriate,” he said at last, in grave and serious tones. “Yes, indeed – most appropriate for a true Dwarvish celebration.” He eyed the mistletoe for a long moment. “I would ask, though – _why_ is it hanging just there?”

Dáin looked at Dís. Dís looked at Dáin.

And then simultaneously they leaned in and kissed Thorin on each cheek.

“It’s traditional,” Dís said in Thorin’s left ear.

“Happy Midwinter, Thorin,” Dáin said in his right ear.

Thorin’s lips twitched and he took a hasty sip of his ale. He failed, however, to repress either the smile or the blush that spread across his face. Finally he gave in.

“And a Happy Midwinter to you both,” Thorin said – and kissed each of them back.


End file.
